


Portrait

by taormina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Skinny Steve, fluff and a teaspoon of angst, no dialog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 19:30:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6623326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve reminisces about his almost first time with Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Portrait

Even if you didn’t really know where to look, there were pictures of a young Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes everywhere, from museums and war documentaries to annuals and 40s photobooks that were torn at the edges. These were the boys’ only remaining memories from before they “went under”; recollections scattered throughout time and space in quick snapshots of simpler but perhaps worse times. Each had its own melancholic tale to tell.

There were all sorts: photos of Steve and Bucky fighting alongside the Howling Commandos; photos of Captain America saving a woman or child in an occupied country, his outfit torn and his shield nearly in pieces; an action snapshot of Bucky Barnes assisting his pal in battle; and finally, innumerable impressions of war zones and sad, desolate places that the boys had been in.

For history fanatics, these photos were perfect. Admirable. Awe-inspiring. But the photos that mattered, the ones of Steve and Bucky as friends, as two regular Brooklyn boys, were almost untraceable. It was as if they never even existed, and if they had, time would long have swallowed them up along with the places the boys used to frequent. Unfortunately, not everything could be put on ice.

Things changed when a package was delivered to Captain America’s New York apartment a couple of days ago. The package was badly held together with tape and handwritten HANDLE WITH CARE instructions, and for a moment, Steve wondered if someone might be pulling a prank on him. (Tony, perhaps? Natasha? No, she’d never be that cruel.) Cautious that something might jump out of the package like a paper jack-in-the-box, Steve slowly but unceremoniously unboxed the package anyway and gasped when he saw what treasures awaited him.

It was a package full of photos of Steve and Bucky when they were still kids, teenagers really, sent to him by an old, ageing friend who needed the photos no more. Steve hadn’t even considered how badly he desired to own photos of that period until now.

One photo in particular caught his eye, and Steve trembled when he picked it up and delicately held it to the light of his bedroom window. It was one of him and Bucky, caught in a rare, spontaneous black and white blur. Previously, the only photos he’d seen of him and Bucky were ones in which they were both in their uniforms. Their suits. Impressive, yes, but hardly heart-warming.

In the photo in Steve’s hand, the boys were laughing and talking; big, goofy smiles on their faces created the impression that it must have been a jolly good moment in time indeed. The hair on their heads looked wet as if it had been raining.

The photo, Steve knew, was taken on a puddle-covered street corner just outside a café where they used to play pool with their friends. Bucky usually won, but he didn’t that day — he was simply too focussed on the perfect line of Steve’s skinny shoulders in the dim, smoky lights of the billiard room. Steve drank lots of coke that night, and Bucky managed to down a cheeky pint of beer or two before settling on a glass of wine he’d stolen from a pal. Even though their glasses were still half-full, Steve and Bucky left the café early because the smoke made Steve’s eyes water and his throat burn as if it were on fire, and the odd drop of rain fell onto their faces as they walked side by side on the city streets. By then, the man who had taken the photograph had already gone home to see his sweetheart. 

Steve remembered it all because he almost lost his virginity that day.

He could still picture it all so clearly. That familiar, wordless _look_ that was shared only by future lovers. The way Bucky took off his jacket and let it slide onto the wet, dirty alleyway ground. The dulcet words that followed. The way Bucky kissed Steve and pinned his hands above his head so strongly, so keenly that Steve felt it for the rest of the week. Then all the panting and rubbing and near-fucking, and how natural it was that the clouds decided to look down on them favourably and make the rain stop as they half-undressed.

All that came back to Steve by looking at a single photograph, but Bucky could remember it no more: when Steve showed the picture to him, all he got in return was a vague shrug and a smile.


End file.
